


White Carnations

by heartbreakholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Flowers, Fluff, Language of Flowers, M/M, Romantic Fluff, and he cries, and it's cute i hope, and one day he receives them from guess who, basically sherlock has always wanted to be sent flowers, i think this is sweet but i hope it's not just me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 20:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10557394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbreakholmes/pseuds/heartbreakholmes
Summary: White carnations: pure love and good luck.





	

A knock on the door to 221B startled Sherlock from his thoughts. He clenched his jaw in frustration, ignored the sound, and continued rearranging his test tube rack. 

A second knock echoed through the flat a moment later and Sherlock spun on his heel, heading downstairs. 

“Mrs. Hudson!” He called as he reached the last few steps. “This is your front door, answer it!” 

The empty coat rack told him she had left when John had gone to work, so Sherlock opened the front door begrudgingly, expecting a client, but was shocked to find a bouquet of white flowers shoved under his nose. 

“Mr. ‘Olmes?” A man with a strong accent stared up at him, petals hiding his face. 

“Oh," Sherlock hesitated. “Yes. That’s me, but I didn’t order any flowers.” 

“No, but someone’s ordered ‘em for you, mate. Bit odd though. Ain’t seen many men receiving carnations since I started the job.” 

Sherlock frowned, not amused by the comment, and remembered John telling him it was rude to reveal people had undiscovered heart problems just because they ‘pissed you off’. So instead he smiled with a twitch of his mouth and took the flowers, slamming the door with his foot behind him. 

The flowers were bright and beautiful and Sherlock felt his heart flutter as their perfume tickled his nose. He wondered who sent them, not having any previous flower-receiving experiences to base his deductions off of, and thought maybe it was his parents. It would never be Mycroft, his brother often made a mess of things but flowers would be odd. _More_ than odd. 

Realisation struck the detective at the same his eyes found the silver card attached to the stem of carnation. Gently, he pushed his hand into the bouquet and retrieved the card, stomach erupting with butterflies. 

_To my love, Sherlock._

_John x_

Sentiment won over, or maybe it was spontaneous hayfever, and Sherlock’s eyes watered. He smiled and headed up the stairs to find water for the flowers, cradling them gently to his chest while searching for something to use as a vase. 

It was three hours before John was home from work, the sound of footsteps on the stairs sparring Sherlock into action. Careful to avoid the various experiments that had migrated from table to floor, Sherlock made his way over to John and laced his arms around the man’s neck, pushing him backwards just as he reached the landing. 

“Woah, woah! Calm it, Sherlock, you’ll have me down the stairs!” John chuckled, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s waist to steady himself. 

“Don’t care, I’ll go down with you,” Sherlock mumbled, nuzzling his face into John’s neck and pulling him closer. 

“Are you okay? You’re not usually this...” John searched for the word, “affectionate,” he settled on. 

“Thank you.” 

“For saying you’re affectionate?” 

“No, for the Dianthus caryophyllus.” 

“The what?” 

Sherlock sighed, not out of frustration, but out of fondness for John’s obliviousness. 

“Have my botany lessons taught you nothing? The carnations, John.” 

“Oh, they came then.” John smiled, remembering the ‘lessons' Sherlock had given him. He had read an entire book about flower language aloud. Not quite a lesson in botany but John would accept it as one if Sherlock said it was so. 

John pulled the head of dark curls away from his shoulder and saw watery eyes looking down at him. 

“Wait, why are you crying? I thought you’d like them,” John fussed.

“I’m not _crying_ but if I did it would be because they’re beautiful,” Sherlock blinked furiously. 

“Again then, why are you.. _not_ crying about that?” John asked softly. 

“Because so are _you_ ,” Sherlock said, intently looking at John who flushed pink at the compliment. “You’re beautiful for getting me flowers and thinking of me and calling me your ‘love’ on the card.” 

“Of course you’re my love, you know that. I wanted to do something nice for you, you’ve been so stressed recently what with the lack of cases and all. Thought you’d need some cheering up,” John reassured whilst reaching up to wipe a tear from Sherlock’s cheek. 

“That just makes it sweeter.” 

They found themselves grinning at one another and John shook his head. 

“You’re a twit, you know that? A soppy twit.” 

“Of course I know. You tell me all the time, how could I forget?” 

“I don’t need to tell you for you to remember, you don’t forget anything anyway.” 

“You know what I mean,” Sherlock grumbled. “But really. Thank you. I’ve always wanted someone to send me flowers, ever since I was a child actually. I used to give my mother and father little bunches of them… once I even gave a handful of thistles and daisies to Mycroft.” 

“ _Thistles!_ Sherlock, who the hell gives people _thistles_?” John’s heart skipped at the sight of Sherlock’s lips quirked into a half smile. It skipped faster as he saw the devious twinkle in the man’s eye and John silently promised to send Sherlock flowers as often as he could afford it. 

“Shut up. He deserved them and I'd do it again. I couldn’t find enough daisies at the time so I had to make do. But I used to give them out hoping someone would pick them for me in return. I never did get any because, according to my family and much of society, men ‘can’t be given flowers’.” 

“Well, this man can,” John said quietly before pulling Sherlock into a soft kiss, warm and comforting and full of love; the type they both dreamed of when away from each other. 

“I love you, John,” Sherlock whispered against John’s cheek, tracing the bone with the tip of his thumb as he spoke. 

“And I love you. More than you know. Now, let me see what you managed to conjure up to use as a vase for those poor carnations.”

**Author's Note:**

> while researching what flower to use for this, i found that carnations are the january birth flower. i thought that made them even more perfect for sherlock. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading/commenting/leaving kudos, really hope you liked this ficlet.


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